I used to watch sports a lot when I was kid. I was a big fan of the local teams, and a few surprise ones here and there. After I got married, I paid less attention to it. Was working a lot and followed enough of it to know to talk to people. Most of my work at the time was in the city, and I took the train, so I only followed by rummaging through left-behind newspapers, As I found work outside Manhattan I drove more and listened to the radio more, catching up courtesy of sports talk show hosts. When doing the dishes I often turn on the radio to listen to a game. I rarely watch the Super Bowl, though I watched the first half of the Giants-Ravens game, because my team was in it – well, at least for a while they were. I have sometimes even gone supermarket shopping during the game, knowing the store would be empty!
I’m not sure if I would follow sports more closely if I had sons. I doubt it, though I’d probably be more gung ho to go the stadium for a baseball game (let’s face it: the men’s room of a sports stadium is not a place I want to take my girls). It’s just that what’s important to me has changed. I used to get really involved in the events, even on TV. One time I threw a heavy textbook in the direction of the set when I watched the Eagles kicking the Giants’ butts; the thing never got near the set, but I did tear a page of the book. I was aboard a cruise ship in Alaskan waters on my honeymoon when the Rangers won the Stanley Cup. I was watching CNN in our cabin, getting ready for dinner – the network had a reporter outside Madison Square Garden, describing the scene, counting off the seconds remaining in the game… and suddenly, the signal began to go in and out. I screamed at the set. Big mistake.
I knew, even before that moment in Alaska, that I’d have to let go of my attachment to this stuff because I was just taking it too seriously. I could no longer allow my emotional states to be determined by a sporting event that I’m watching on television. I don’t play on the team; my name is not on any trophies – all I did was cheer at home. I still love to talk about my teams and enjoy the dialogue on the air about them, but I keep things in perspective.
As my children have moved out of diapers, I’ve certainly had less say as to what’s on the tv screen than I did years ago. And as far as the Super Bowl is concerned – that kind of time commitment is not for me. I don’t really have too many friends whom I would invite for a party, my brother is usually busy working at some other sporting even in and around the city, my father is 150 miles away, and my in-laws don’t care all that much about sports (my sister’s brother is a big sports fan, but my wife’s relations are uninterested). The games themselves are usually blowouts, though there have been a few exciting ones in recent years. I saw that Titans-Rams game, which went down to the last play. And the first Patriots win, I watched the second half of that, which was won by a field goal on the last play. I missed Janet Jackson’s wardrobe malfunction.
I have fond memories of watching the game at my grandmother’s house, with her brothers around, and the stereotypical scene of the men inside watching and the women in the kitchen cleaning. I also remember being alone in my apartment, watching the game, when I had no rooting interest, enjoying the drama unfold. I am glad of those times, and sometimes I miss those gatherings, both social and anti-social. But until I get some kind of handle on time management, I won’t be bothering with Super Bowl traditions (and as you may recall, I gave up my cable box a few months ago).
Interestingly, this year we had some family over – our niece turned thirteen last week. Ready for this? She was born on Super Bowl Sunday, to parents who got married on Super Bowl Sunday. And on this Super Bowl Sunday, the TV set remained off again!